


Hidden Triggers

by lapsus_calami



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Child Abuse, Gen, Lewis Snart's A+ Parenting, M/M, hints of noncon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-18 09:58:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14850620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lapsus_calami/pseuds/lapsus_calami
Summary: The early years of Mick and Len as chronicled by the moments they got to know each other a little deeper.





	1. Proximity

**Author's Note:**

> (I fucked with canon so much because…honestly, who cares and why not?)

The good thing about how Mick and Snart meet is that Mick gets the closest he’ll get in over a year within the first few minutes of knowing that Leonard Snart exists. The bad thing about how Mick and Snart meet is that Snart doesn’t actually remember Mick carrying him to the infirmary after Thomas, Lou, and the others beat the shit out him. So when Jonathan, one of the few guards Mick doesn’t hate with a burning passion, drops Snart off in Mick’s cell three days later Snart regards Mick with the same suspicion he gives anyone else.

Of course Mick doesn’t realize it’s a bad thing. Not at first. The fact that Snart treads around him like a skittish cat and keeps about four feet of distance between them at practically all times does little to bother him. After all, he’s hardly fond of other people in the first place and regards Snart with utter indifference at best and mild interest at worst.

At least for first couple weeks.

But the thing about Snart is that he grows on you.

Like a fungus.

Even when he’s keeping his distance like his life depends on it Snart is…sociable. Mick clues in after a few days that Snart is utterly incapable of being left to his own thoughts and devices day in and day out. He’s the kind of guy that would fall apart in solitary, Mick thinks. The kind that can’t handle their own thoughts without any external distraction. He’s not like Mick who can flee inside his head and live there comfortably for days at a time.

It starts with Snart following him everywhere. Odd since they never talk or even so much as really look at one another, but as long as Snart doesn’t make a nuisance of himself Mick can’t bring himself to care. So they walk the halls together, watch television together, eat together. Always in silence with at least several feet of space between them.

It grows into Snart making side comments meant, Mick thinks, just for him. Snart says them under his breath kind of, but not really, in Mick’s direction. They’re never questions at the start. Just shrewd observations, cutting remarks, and, on more than one occasion, bad puns. Mick never replies because, honestly, he doesn’t think Snart wants him too. Plus, Mick just plain doesn't care.

Until the lunch lady spoons a ladle full of sorry looking orange vegetables onto Snart’s tray and he sort of frowns at it then says, “It’s like they don’t carrot all about our nutrition.”

Mick snorts in spite of himself glancing over on instinct and surprised to find Snart’s gaze meeting his own. Expectant. “That was bad,” Mick says accepting his own helping of carrots. “Even for you.”

Snart huffs out his own laugh and his gaze skitters away, but the half-smile tugging at Snart’s lips leaves Mick with the weird feeling that he just passed some sort of test.

A few days later Mick’s not sure he _wanted_ to pass that test because it turns out that once Snart really starts talking he basically never shuts up. Mick spends a lot of time wondering if Snart is actually always this goddamn chatty or if he’s just been saving it up the last couple weeks and will eventually run out of steam. He also spends a lot of time weighing the pros and cons of smothering Snart into silence. On one hand he’ll definitely get sent to solitary, but on the other solitary would be _quiet_.

Mick doesn’t end up smothering Snart. And it turns out that, yes, Snart does eventually run out of steam, but all it really means is he stops talking like a man on speed about anything and starts keeping a running commentary about everything. Mick just learns to tune him out as white noise, and it keeps them both happy. Snart gets to run his mouth and Mick figures he doesn’t really care that Mick never knows what he’s saying.

Mick goes through half a day one week feeling uncomfortably off kilter before he realizes the reason is Snart’s being unnaturally quiet. A cursory glance finds Snart sat two seats down, tray of food untouched and shoved away from him, skin even paler than normal, and arms wrapped around himself like a shield. It reminds Mick of how he looked when Jonathan first nudged him into Mick’s cell, and for half a second Mick wonders if he fucked something up somehow. Then he gives himself a reality check and reminds himself that he doesn’t care.

Except.

“You gonna eat that or just stare at it?”

It comes out blunter than he means it too and Snart sort of flinches as he glances over with a kind of side-eye look that Mick recognizes from stray cats at the farm. All suspicion and showing the whites of his eyes too much for it to really be comfortable.

“Not hungry,” Snart mutters tightening his arms around his torso.

Mick pushes out an aggrieved sigh, stretches to reach across the table ignoring the way Snart leans away from him, and drags the tray back to right in front of the other boy. “Eat,” he says gruffly resettling himself in his own chair.

Snart, if possible, pales even further and presses the cuff of his sleeve over his nose and mouth. He shoves back from the table and rushes out of the cafeteria as fast as possible without it constituting running so the guards won’t care. Mick stares after him in deliberation then rises to trail after at a much slower pace. The guards watch him go with much more suspicion.

He finds Snart puking his guts out in the bathroom and just watches him for a moment. There are scratches on the back of his head just visible through his shorn hair and already scabbing over. Scratches like someone was trying to pull on hair that just wasn't there. Mick scans the next obvious spots. Bruises around Snart’s wrists, scrapes on his knuckles.

The pieces fall together and something hot and furious churns inside Mick. Snart finally drops back from the toilet and Mick falls to his knees beside him.

“Gimme a name,” Mick says before he can second guess himself and really figure out what the fuck he thinks he’s doing.

Snart looks just as confused, but his lips press into a thin line and he eventually mutters, “Thomas.”

Mick shouldn’t be surprised and he isn’t. Not really. Thomas is in on his fifth juvie stint already. He’s a cruel boy who will no doubt grow into a cruel man; a career criminal if Mick’s ever seen one. Savage and the kind of person who gets off on the pain and suffering of others.

Mick beats his face into the cement, plays it up like Thomas provoked him, and gets off with only three days in solitary. Thomas is in the infirmary, likely for the next week or so, and Mick’s pretty sure he got the message across.

When he gets back from solitary Snart eyes him warily from across the room, but Mick finds a lighter beneath his pillow when he goes to sleep.

Two and a half months later Mick sighs and drops down on the saggy couch like a sack of potatoes right next to Snart and flings his arms out over the back with his thumb just barely brushing the other boy’s shoulder.

Leonard doesn’t flinch. Just makes a bland comment about how stupid the movie is on the television.

Mick leans his head back and smiles.


	2. Cops

Leonard Snart is an enigma wrapped in an enigma. This Mick knows.

Mick prides himself on good interpersonal skills. He might not be _smart_ but he knows people. He can pin down what makes a person tick in practically one conversation. He can ferret out someone’s hot buttons and push them so subtly they never know what hits them. He can drive a person up the wall with as little as one well-placed comment.

Leonard Snart is one of the few exceptions, which makes him one of the most interesting people Mick’s ever met. Oh, Mick figured out what made the kid tick within three days of meeting him, although he didn’t really pin anything down specific until they got around to having an _actual_ conversation that didn’t involve Snart just trying to redirect and evade. Wasn’t rocket science to figure out Len comes from a broken home, although initially Mick assumed the person left behind that Leonard feels responsible for was his mother. Took a month for Len to share he has a sister.

And after the second or so attempt Len caught on pretty quick whenever Mick tried to rile him up just for the hell of it when they were in juvie. He’s a smart one, the real kind of smart. The kind of smart that can look at the wildly disordered world and make sense of all the crazy. Len can find a pattern in a tangled ball of yarn, untangle it, and tie it all back up in the neatest of goddamn knots.

The most interesting thing about Leonard, though, is his never-ending ability to be utterly unpredictable. Mick’s rarely surprised by people; he’s got good instincts. Good ability to read others and know what they’re going to do. Not Len though. Whenever Mick thinks he’s got Leonard Snart figured out he goes and does something completely out of left field.

Case in point: they’re strolling down the street one moment and the next Leonard is shoving Mick into a narrow alcove barely big enough for him let alone him _and_ Len at the same time. Not that the other boy seems to care. He just shoves himself in right up against Mick so they’re both uncomfortably squeezed in-between two brick buildings.

It’s the most Len’s ever been in Mick’s space. He usually keeps his distance from all people, including Mick, like his life depends on it because in most instances it probably does. The closest Mick’s ever gotten really, save that first day in juvie, is next to him on the couch whenever he actually manages to get Len to sit his ass down and watch a movie.

Until now.

“Leona—”

Len shushes him immediately reaching up to press a finger against Mick’s lips as he shuffles closer and, yeah, Mick’s brain pretty much derails and he’s not thinking about saying anything anymore. He swallows heavily and wills his heart to stop pounding so damn loud before Len hears; focuses on thinking very hard about anything that _isn’t_ Len.

Like the cops walking by; yep, that’ll do it.

Mick freezes without Leonard’s prompting, Len stilling almost unnaturally against him, and both of them holding their breath as the two officers stride past. It’s only after they’re gone from his view that Mick wonders why he and Len are hiding in the first place. They aren’t _up_ to anything unless they count the fact that Leonard is physically incapable of not pickpocketing random people. At any given moment Len probably has four or five wallets that don’t belong to him in his pockets. One of them is usually Mick’s.

But other than that Leonard and Mick are being generally upstanding citizens today. They aren’t even casing anything. Just walking down the damn street, so Mick has no idea what’s got Leonard’s panties in a twist.

Probably best if he doesn’t think about Len’s underwear.

Len’s still pressed against Mick’s front, is pressing closer actually and standing up on his tiptoes to peer over Mick’s shoulder and around the edge of the wall. The side of his face is a hair’s breadth from Mick’s lips; he’s close enough that Mick can smell the underlying scent of peach soap. It prompts an insane urge to lean forward and lick him that Mick just barely manages to beat down.

And his therapist says he has impulse control issues.

“Snart,” Mick says instead keeping his tone tightly restrained and he sees the moment Len figures it out. Sees the moment when he realizes that the two of them are still pressed close together in this narrow alcove with Len’s hand on Mick’s arm and his face less than two damn centimeters from the finger that is still resting on Mick’s lips. Fucking hell.

“Right,” Len says shifting back and smoothing his hands over Mick’s jacket, which really doesn't help any. Len seems to realize that right away, flushing a frankly adorable shade of pink and removing his hands entirely as he slips back out onto the street.

Mick knocks his head back into the bricks flicking his gaze to the sky to pray to a God he doesn’t really believe in before following after. Len is staring down the street, squinting at the small figures of the cops that had passed them climbing into a cruiser. Len stares long enough for them to pull out on the street and make a U-turn at an intersection. They’re headed this way, not that it much matters, but Len reaches out for Mick’s arm maneuvering them around so he’s standing in front of Mick with Mick’s back to the street, the whole of him likely blocked from view simply by Mick’s very presence.

Mick arches an eyebrow, twists to watch the cops drive by then looks back to the boy hiding in his shadow. “Something I should know?” he asks. He’s only been out a couple weeks himself, but he hopes Len would have mentioned if he was in any trouble with the cops. “You got a warrant out for you, Snart? Thought you said you stayed clean?”

“Said I didn’t get caught doin’ anything,” Leonard corrects automatically but his expression remains tense. Worried.

“Len.”

“It’s nothin’ really,” Len mumbles taking a step away and drawing in on himself. “Just…that one cop just looked like my dad is all. And I just thought…”

Mick frowns as Leonard shrugs staring at the ground with his arms wrapped around himself like a shield. It’s really only the fourth time Mick’s seen him do that. Close in on himself like he’s trying to make himself as small as possible. The first time was after Len had been dumped in the cell with Mick following his beat down in juvie. Mick still doesn’t know for sure what caused the second time. And the third time was after a visit from Leonard’s father.

It’s just as unsettling now as it was then.

“Come on,” Mick says nudging Len with his elbow and frowning more when Len sort of shrinks away. Mick pulls in a deep breath, nudges him again, and says, “If we hurry we can still catch the new _Rambo_.”

Predictably Len scowls, nose wrinkling up in disgust. He even reaches out to give Mick a hard shove with a scoffed, “As if.”

Mick just laughs letting the push send him several steps towards the street and making no effort to resist the motion.


	3. Dogs

Having been raised on a farm it’s not a surprise that Mick actually likes animals. They’re better than most people at any rate. Quiet and calm unless you piss them off. The fact that Len and Lisa have never actually seen a cow in person kind of floors him. Lisa, he knows, is still at the age where anything fluffy is cute though she has a real thing for cats. Len, on the other hand, has only ever shown utter disinterest in animals. It kind of saddens Mick’s soul a bit because, honestly, how does one _not_ like animals? Not to mention a furry companion would probably do Len some good. God knows they got Mick through enough stuff when he still lived on the farm.

Regardless, even Len can’t fault Mick for this. The dog is big and fluffy and sits so nicely while just staring up at Mick with big blue eyes. They remind him strongly of Len’s eyes not that the fact has anything to do with Mick dragging the pathetic thing home with him. Really.

She needs a good grooming for starters, but Mick’s pleasantly surprised to find that beneath her fluff she actually seems pretty healthy. Not starved, no signs of any diseases, unfortunately no collar either. If Mick were to hazard a guess he would say she’s only just recently become a stray. Someone somewhere is probably desperately missing her. Shame.

But, their loss and his gain. And he doesn’t care if Len thinks animals are filthy and have no place in a house; far as Mick’s concerned the dog is here to stay. If Len asks him for the thousandth time if he was raised in a barn, Mick will just say yes this time because in all honesty he had spent an awful lot of time in one during his younger years.

He’ll have to come up with a name for her. Can’t very well keep calling her Dog all the time.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he rumbles giving the dog a good scratch behind her ear as he continues to work the comb through her thick fur. She cocks her head further into his touch and just wags her tail while panting happily. Absolutely no help on the name front at all. “Maybe I should let Len name you,” he muses hearing the tell tale groan of the apartment door being forced open then kicked shut. “Might be more agreeable to keepin’ you.”

“Mick? I got dinner,” Len calls and Mick takes an experimental sniff of the air smiling at the dog who just keeps on wagging her tail.

“Smells like Chinese,” he whispers conspiratorially. “If you’re good, I’ll share my chicken.”

“Mick?” Len calls again tone lilting just a little towards something that approximated concern. “You here?”

“Bedroom,” Mick returns hearing Len’s path change accordingly. He gives the dog a final good stroke with the comb before setting it aside and moving his hands to give her one last thorough petting.

Hands still buried in her thick fur he hears Len nudge the door open Mick’s name just beginning to fall from his lips again as the dog stands up, tag wagging erratically as she too catches sight of Len, and barks.

She has a loud bark. Splitting really and it echoes against the crap walls of his crap apartment. It even startles Mick a little, who really isn’t expecting such an intimidating bark from such a pretty dog.

Len jerks back, knocking his shoulder into the doorframe and dropping the bag with their Chinese to the floor. For a moment they all just stare at each other. Mick and Len and the dog.

“Get rid of it,” Len hisses not even waiting for a reply before disappearing into the bathroom and slamming the door shut. After a moment Mick distinctly hears the lock engage. Real mature there, Leonard, he thinks viciously. Then again Len isn’t known for his mature reactions to things he doesn’t want so maybe Mick shouldn’t be so surprised.

The dog stares after Len for a moment, tail drooping just a bit before she perks back up and barks again right in Mick’s face. He gently bats her snout away muttering, “Quiet, you.”

Pushing himself up with a sigh he pats the dog on her nose once more, asking her to sit and pleased when she complies. “Now, you stay put, you hear? Stay. Len won’t listen to me if you’re trying to lick his face.”

She doesn’t give any indication whether she understands one way or the other. Just thuds her tail against the floor and barks.

Rolling his eyes, Mick drags a hand over his face and approaches the bathroom door. Ordinarily he’d just let Len burn through whatever his issue is alone but, given that he intends to keep the dog, they should probably talk about this. Whatever _this_ is. Which is ridiculous.

He raps his knuckles on the door just hard enough to be heard over a quiet, “Len?”

There are no sounds from inside. No running water. No pacing. No loud breathing. Nothing.

“Leonard, open the damn door.”

After another long moment of silence Len asks, “Is it gone?”

“The dog?” Mick glances over his shoulder towards the bedroom. The dog’s crept forward enough to peek her head around the corner. “No.”

The bathroom door cracks open just enough for Mick to see one of Len’s eyes as he angrily repeats, “I said get rid of it.”

Mick catches the door, not letting Len push it closed again and forcing his way into the bathroom with a reprimand on the tip of his tongue about how this is _his_ apartment and Leonard doesn't get to make the rules here. Mick doesn’t say it though, because Len immediately backs away and wraps his arms around himself. It’s enough of a warning light for Mick to realize something is more wrong than just a dislike of dogs.

“Len,” he starts and the dog picks that exact moment to bark, earsplittingly loud and right outside the bathroom door that has fallen shut but not latched.

Len jumps, drawing more in on himself and tucking his chin down to his chest. A second later while Mick is still trying to process the dog barks again and Len flinches. She’s just warming up it seems because not two seconds later she’s barking up a storm right in the middle of the apartment and Len looks like he’s teetering on the edge of an all out panic attack, eyes clenched shut and breaths carefully measured but far too shallow.

Swearing, Mick spins around yanking the door open and telling the dog to hush. He pulls the door shut behind him trying to only feel a little guilty as he pats his leg and beckons the beautiful girl to follow him on out of the apartment. She’s still barking intermittently as she trails after him tail wagging almost too fast to see.

If Mick remembers correctly there’s a pet shelter only a few blocks away from the apartment. Hopefully they’ll be able to get her back to her rightful owners. If not, hopefully they’ll find her another good home. Regardless, she can’t stay with him.

Len’s sitting at the rickety kitchen table picking idly at a scorch mark when Mick comes home again an hour or so later. He looks up when Mick enters, whole body going still as he tries, no doubt, to gauge Mick’s mood. Mick hates when he does that. Treats Mick like his shit father and acts like he has to tip toe around any confrontation.

Like Mick is really going to be upset over the fact that Leonard is apparently terrified of dogs. Mick doesn’t want to follow that line of thought too far, doesn’t want to know the reason behind Len’s flinches. It’s enough for him to know the cause and make sure it’s not present in the apartment. If he knows _why_ he has a feeling he’ll get the urge to kill Lewis. Again. And Leonard never really appreciates his offers to follow through with those.

Mick doesn’t say anything, just drops his coat over the back of the couch and joins Len at the table. He’s picked up the Chinese, the containers carefully arranged on the table according to size. The food is probably long cold but Mick still doesn’t have a microwave and he certainly doesn’t feel like going to get anything else so it’ll have to do. He tugs one of the medium sized cartons toward himself, pleased to discover it contains the sweet-and-sour chicken he thought it might, and digs in.

After a few moments he realizes Len hasn’t followed his lead; is, in fact, just sitting there and staring at Mick. When Mick just stares on back he finally shifts, dropping his gaze to the table.

“What?” Mick grunts around a mouthful of chicken making sure his expression betrays nothing. He eyes the containers again picking out the one likely to contain the fried rice and sends it sliding Len’s direction followed a moment later by chopsticks.

Len slowly unwraps the chopsticks and opens his carton. After a few bites he flicks his gaze to Mick and says, “Thank you.”

Mick shrugs grabbing another container and popping an eggroll in his mouth. “You’re the one who brought the food,” he says deliberately misinterpreting Len’s words. He catches Leonard’s gaze for a moment, holding it and trying to make sure he understands.

Len ducks his head with a small smile as he pokes at his rice. “Yeah,” he agrees. “You’re welcome.”


	4. Water

Mick drags him to a house party. Not exactly Mick’s finest moment and not exactly his scene. But there’s booze and hot girls and people willing to pay a shit load of money for drugs so it’s enjoyable enough for him. Leonard, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to be enjoying himself all that much. Kid’s probably never been to a party like this. Too scared of people, not that he’d ever admit it, and too busy playing keeper to his father and parent to his little sister to actually be an irresponsible teenager like the rest of his peers. 

Len is, Mick thinks, about the same age as most of these partygoers. While most of them pick up immediately that Mick’s not exactly in their crowd—too old, too rough—and correctly peg him as the man with the real fun stuff, the same majority seem to accept Leonard right into their fold.

It’s almost laughable really. Watching Leonard awkwardly make conversation and flirt while nursing his drink. Mick’s pretty sure it’s the same damn drink someone handed him not three minutes after they’d arrived over four hours ago but he knows when to pick his battles. Getting Leonard to this party at all was a miracle so Mick will let him remain mostly sober the whole night if that’s what he wants.

He’s got his back to the pool negotiating with a skinny little dude when he hears the commotion. A rolling cheer through the partygoers, a cry of protest, and then a resounding splash as yet another poor bastard gets tossed in the water. Mick snorts in amusement and accepts the cash before handing over the small bag of weed.

When he turns around again he can’t see Len. Anywhere. He’s not near the pool. He’s not by the drinks. Mick’s first thought it Len’s ducked out on him. Again. Mick hates it when he does that. Then he takes a closer look at the pool.

There’s a group of five or six people taking turns pushing a seventh under the water. Their victim doesn’t look to be particularly enjoying the fact. Mick rolls his eyes and is about to leave the children to their own devices when he recognizes the poor guy in the pool.

It’s Len.

The moment he surfaces one of the other kids plants their hands on his shoulders and shoves him under again. It’s a stupid game, innocent enough really, and no one is holding him down, just pushing him briefly under every time he manages to really get his head above water. But Len certainly doesn’t look like he’s enjoying it, is steadily and obviously trying to make his way to the ledge. And getting dumped in a pool without warning is exactly the sort of thing Leonard would hate.

Mick shoves his half-full cup at the first available person and stalks towards the pool. The big blonde kid, probably the asshole who tossed Len in the pool to start with, has one hand on Len’s head and another on the back of his neck when Mick reaches the edge. Len’s got one hand wrapped around the boy’s wrist, but he doesn’t have enough leverage and he’s not at the right angle to really keep the other kid from shoving him underwater and so down he goes.

“Hey!” Mick barks. “Get your hands off him!”

The guy immediately lets go backing away as Leonard surfaces again gasping for air and splashing in the water as he tries to orient himself. Mick leans over the edge wrapping an arm around Len’s torso and hauling him out. Leonard struggles, fighting against Mick’s hold and damn near managing to wriggle free. Mick just readjusts his grip and finally manages to pull the other boy from the pool muttering, “Chill, Len, it’s just me.”

Whether he hears Mick or just finally realizes he is being dragged out of the pool, Len relaxes and goes limp, collapsing back against Mick’s chest on the patio and effectively soaking Mick’s entire front. He’s shivering, Mick notes, full body tremors wracking through him.

Aside from the music still blaring it’s uncomfortably silent with everyone just staring at the two of them. Mick can feel when Len finally notices and it’s not two seconds later that Len is struggling to his feet and stumbling towards the gate. Mick follows him after giving the asshole in the pool one last glare. He catches up to Leonard at the corner, calling his name and reaching out to grasp his shoulder.

“Len, hold up, man.”

Len slips out from under Mick’s hand. Takes three steps away and stands firm, facing Mick head on and clenching his jaw. There’s something wild in his eyes and Mick holds his hand up in surrender. This is more than Len being mad at getting dunked in the pool. More than him being pissed over his clothes or whatever else he may have in his pockets.

“Leonard—”

“I’m fine,” Len bites out and that’s as much an admission as anything.

Mick takes a step back and Len wraps his arms around himself. “I didn’t ask,” Mick says ignoring the pit growing in his stomach because, goddamnit, he’s managed to do it again.

Len says nothing. Just shuffles his feet, ducks his head, and seems to fold in on himself as if he’d like nothing more than to just sink into the ground. Mick can see his shoulders shaking, he’s still trembling from head to toe and it’s not that cold out. Not cold at all really. Mick’s sweating in his thin t-shirt and light jacket that he wore just for the pockets.

He creeps forward, one hand out to put the barest of pressure on Len’s arm. “Hey,” he says pleased when Len reflexively glances up. He’s not crying Mick’s relieved to see, but he looks shaken, looks like he still can’t wrap his mind around what just happened. It twists Mick’s stomach, that look. Makes him want to hunt down anyone who’s ever laid a hand on Leonard and burn them alive. Makes him want to go back to that party, pour some gasoline and oil in that pool and light it up. Listen to them scream and watch the firelight dance in the reflection of Len’s eyes.

“Mick,” Len whispers and he realizes his free hand is balled in a fist in his pocket, clenched tight around his lighter. He doesn't know what expression is showing on his face, but Len looks a little worried, a little scared, so he forces his hand to relax, breathes out a long and steady breath.

“Stay with me tonight,” Mick says shifting even closer. Lisa’s with their grandfather he knows, so Len doesn’t have any reason to protest. Len licks his lips, flicks his gaze up to peer at Mick through his ridiculous eyelashes. He doesn’t answer, silence stretching out long enough to make Mick feel antsy.

Then his hand is twisting in the collar of Mick’s jacket and he’s tucking himself against Mick’s chest like some drenched cat, forehead resting against Mick’s shoulder and hands tangled in the fabric of his jacket. Mick blinks, a little taken aback, but eventually and cautiously brings his arms up to wrap around Leonard’s shoulders. It’s nice, he thinks as he breathes in Leonard’s scent almost completely overwhelmed by the smell of chlorine. He could get used to this.


	5. Touch

Mick doesn’t consider himself a jumpy person. He knows his history, knows that he’s more similar to Len than he likes to admit. Knows that as much as he denies it, he has his own...things. And so maybe he’s not the most well adjusted person, but he’s not easily startled.

Not like Len who flinches if you lay a hand on him without express permission. Touch doesn’t bother Mick. He’s used to touch, used to the fact that it can be accompanied by pain, used to pounding fists and iron grips. So it doesn’t bother him. 

Generally.

It’s different when he’s watching fire. The flame distracts him. Everything else just sort of fades away until it’s just him and fire, nothing else matters in the world. 

It's the only time he isn’t aware of everything around him. The only time his entire focus is on just one thing. Just the flame flickering back and forth. 

A heavy hand lands on the back of his neck, fingers curling just enough to dig into the tense muscles with some amount of pressure. It’s been a long time since someone grabbed him like that but Mick still reacts. Drives his elbow back hard enough that the person behind him can’t do more than let out a startled grunt and twists the offending hand on the back of his neck far enough he hears bone crunch.

He has Len face down in the concrete before he even realizes what he’s doing. Len twists his head to the side and just freezes, tenses up beneath Mick like he’s waiting for the next hit to fall. It hits Mick low in the gut how Len doesn’t even try to fight back.

Mick releases his arm and scrambles to the side dragging one hand over his face, stomach churning for a variety of reasons. Len drags in a lungful of air, coughing a bit, and it’s only then that Mick realizes he had been leaning all his weight on Len’s back.

“Shit,” Mick mutters shifting forward and just managing to not touch as Len gingerly pushes himself up to a sitting position. “You okay?”

Len grimaces but nods bringing his wrist close to his chest. It looks like it’s starting to swell already, and Mick can still hear the sickening crunch it’d made when he grabbed Len.

“Liar,” he grouses reaching out to grasp Len’s wrist gently making sure to telegraph his intention. Len doesn’t protest and doesn’t flinch. He does, however, hiss when Mick tries to rotate his hand.

“I just need ice,” he says like it’s not entirely obvious Mick just broke his fucking arm. “It’ll be fine.”

It takes Mick three hours to convince him to go to a clinic and another forty-five minutes to actually get him in the damn car. Len’s wrist is broken of course and he’s got a cracked rib and a nasty bruise on his back, but overall he’s okay. The nurse keeps shooting Mick little glares the whole time she’s wrapping Len’s arm in a cast. Mick just glowers on back standing with hunched shoulders in the corner of the exam room. He knows what she’s thinking. Knows the doctor’s probably thinking the same thing. But Len’s stubbornly sticking to his lousy fell down the stairs excuse and the ID he handed them says nineteen so there’s nothing they can do.

Later, when Len’s asleep on his couch from the pain pill Mick slipped in his stew, Mick sits in his  ratty old chair and watches.


	6. Scars

It takes four years for Mick to meet Leonard’s father. Oh, he’s heard all about Lewis over the years, but it’s all been filtered by Len’s tendency to downplay everything so Mick doesn’t know exactly what to expect.

He’s not expecting what he finds. He’s not expecting someone a good bit shorter than Leonard with thinning hair and the beginnings of a beer belly. He’s not expecting someone who laughs and jokes and is downright protective of Len when it comes to the misgivings of the others on the crew.

Mick’s just there as an enforcer. They don’t care that he’s young and inexperienced so long as he’s big and looks mean. Len’s the crux of the plan though, the one who needs to crack the safe in thirty seconds or they all go to jail. But Lewis stands up for him, vouches for Leonard’s skill and threatens Bradley when the man objects.

It’s not what Mick was expecting and he doesn’t like how it throws off his perception of the man, because he knows Lewis isn’t a good person. Knows the man is the reason behind Leonard’s skittishness and the cause of his bruises. But it’s not as obvious as Mick thought it would be, not as black and white.

And he can’t help but hate the man a little more because now he knows _this_ is why. This behavior is why Leonard can’t see it the way Mick does. Why he always tells Mick no when Mick offers to take him and Lisa away. Why Leonard keeps going back to the bastard instead of staying by Mick’s side all the time.  Why Lisa says their father loves them, but just doesn't always know the right way to show it. This is why. 

The job goes off without a hitch, and Lewis doesn’t so much as lay a finger on Lenny. 

It leaves Mick feeling on edge because what he knows and what he's observing doesn't match. He thinks he probably understands why Leonard always seems keyed up now. What did his therapist in juvie call it? Hyper-vigilance. Even Mick feels like he's been on high alert since Leonard told him they were going to do a job with his dad. (In fairness, Leonard had mentioned _he_ was going to do a job with Lewis. It was Mick who invited himself along as a henchman to make sure Lewis behaved.) 

Which he is. Behaving. So well in fact that Mick gets complacent and leaves them alone in a room together. All the others have left. It's just the three of them and Mick goes to take a piss because when you have to go you have to go. He's back in less than a minute, adjusting his pants and paying little attention to the Snarts in the corner. 

Then he hears the slaps. They're soft. All Lewis is really doing is patting Len's cheek, but it's insistent, almost claiming, and getting progressively a little harder with each hit. Mick freezes because it's almost...benign. Certainly not what he expects from a man who regularly leaves Leonard with black eyes and split lips. 

Neither of them have realized Mick's back in the room. Leonard finally jerks away, flinching when Lewis goes to tap him again. Lewis' hand lands on his shoulder instead, giving a hard squeeze as he leans in to speak. Mick wishes he could hear what they were saying, but he's almost afraid to move and break the tentative peace in the room. 

The backhand takes both him and Len by surprise. Len doesn't react beyond raising a hand to his cheek and in the next second Lewis has him face down on the table. Mick doesn't remember moving but he's got his handgun pulled from the waistband of his pants and pointed at Lewis' head before the man makes another move. 

"Take your hands off him," Mick growls, pitching his voice low and deep with the hope that it will come off intimidating. He's not scared of Lenny's dad, but Len is and  _that's_ what scares Mick. 

Lewis doesn't move, still has his hand clenched around Len's neck shoving him face first into the rusty table. There's a thin line of blood on Len's lip where it's split. 

"Tell your dog to sit, Leo." 

Leonard blows out a harsh breath through his nose. With his head at the angle Lewis is holding it Mick's not sure Len can even see him. All the same he says, "Mick." 

The order is implied in his tone more than anything. It's the same answer Mick always gets when he offers to take Len and Lisa away or take care of Lewis for them. Just his name, but it means so much more than that. It's a refusal and a plea and promise all rolled into one. It says _no_ and _not now_ and _I'll handle it_. 

Lewis lets go. Turns around to face Mick as Lenny stands up. He's not worried about Len being behind him. It doesn't matter. They both know Len won't do anything and he doesn't, just stands up and wipes blood off his lip. 

"You best be prepared to pull that trigger, boy," Lewis sneers. "Shouldn't point things at people if you can't follow through." 

Len steps around his father and places a hand on Mick's arm with enough pressure to lower the gun a bit. Mick lets it drop the rest of the way in defeat. "Let's go," he says. 

"Mick." 

"You're comin' with me," Mick states gesturing with his gun and not taking his eyes off Lewis. "Not him." 

Lewis doesn't seem to care. Just gives Mick a smile like he thinks Mick's act is amusing. It makes Mick's skin crawl because it doesn't feel like he's winning. When he sees Leonard's hesitation he understands he's not. Not really. Lewis will always win. Will always have control over Len so long as he has Lisa and maybe even when doesn't. That's how this works. Mick knows that. Lewis knows that. 

"We're leaving," Mick repeats because he'll be damned if he lets Len go with Lewis right now. Oh, Len will go back later. He always does. But for right now, Mick's going to keep him safe. They edge of of the room and Mick only needs to prompt Len a little. They leave Len's take behind, but Mick's not stupid enough to think Len was ever really going to get his share. They have Mick's small portion and that will have to be enough. 

Leonard's quiet on the way back to Mick's apartment. Slouched in Mick's passenger seat tentatively poking at his split lip as Mick drives. Mick's busy thanking the lucky stars that Lisa is out of town right now; doubts Len would have come with him if she were waiting for Lewis at home. 

Leonard stays silent the whole way up to the apartment, as they toe their shoes off, and as Mick guides him to the bathroom. The split lip and scrapes on the side of Len's face look worse under the harsh light that always seems to whine just a bit.

Mick presses Len back against the counter and reaches around him for the first aid kit he's taken to keeping on hand for this very purpose. Len obediently pulls himself up on the counter and sits. It's a compromise between the two of them that has been reached over time. Len doesn't hide injuries anymore, and Mick treats them instead of a clinic. Leonard doesn't like doctors, and Mick doesn't ask why.

Leonard hisses as Mick dabs an alcohol swab over the scrapes from the table. Mick wishes he could be more gentle, but he's not taking chances with how rusty that table had been. So he methodically wipes and cleans until the scrapes are pink and a little bit raw, no sign of dirt to been seen. Then he moves on to the lip, which he can't do much about. It's already stopped bleeding on its own so Mick just dabs a damp washcloth around it to clean up the little bit of blood that is there.

He follows the cloth with a swipe of his thumb over Len's lip only realizing what he's done when Leonard inhales sharply. He makes the mistake of raising his gaze to meet Len's eyes, dark and heady with something Mick reads as want. It sets off something burning inside him, a thrumming need to touch and feel. So he does it again, deliberately with intent, and Len flicks his tongue out grazing Mick's skin. 

Later Mick won't remember who moved first, but in the moment he knows it's him. He lays a hand along Leonard's jaw and kisses him deeply. Cups Leonard's face, sliding fingers over peach-fuzz soft hair, and he can't get enough. 

Len's lips are chapped and he hisses when Mick licks over his cut. Mick's careful to avoid the raw scrapes on the side of Len's face, but makes sure to lavish attention on Len's neck, delighting in the shallow breaths and low moans it elicits. Len's hands fist in Mick's shirt, tugging at the fabric as he draws Mick in closer with his legs around Mick's waist. 

Len gives back as good as he gets. With Len on the counter he's just that little bit taller and uses it to his advantage to tilt Mick's head back and claim him with a searing kiss, one hand tangled in Mick's hair to keep him where Lenny wants him. 

Mick pulls away just long enough to yank his shirt off over his head in one swift movement before diving back in. Len's hands are hot as they slide over his shoulders, down his back, and around to his stomach pausing to tug on the waistband of his pants. Mick moans into Len's mouth and slips his hand beneath Len's shirt sliding over raised and scarred skin, tracing the patterns before pushing up. 

Len freezes then plants a hand in the middle of Mick's chest and shoves him back with a hoarse, "Stop."

And Mick may not have been raised with the best manners but he understands the word stop. Plus, it's Len sitting on his bathroom counter and looking spooked with kiss swollen lips and wide eyes. Mick will do just about whatever he asks right now. Still, it's several long moments before he's able to find his voice.  

"Len?" 

Len picks up Mick's shirt from where it had landed on the sink and wordlessly holds it out avoiding Mick's gaze as he does so. Mick takes the hint and slips his shirt back on without comment. They stand in awkward silence for a few seconds more, then Mick scratches the back of his head and offers to order food because in his experience with Len food fixes everything. The other boy simply never eats enough on his own. 

His only answer is a nod, but Mick flees the room anyway. When he peeks in while on the phone for pizza Len's still sitting on the counter with his face buried in his hands.  It leaves Mick feeling off balance, and he can't help but feel he's just done something incredibly stupid. Even if it had been something he'd spent a lot of time thinking about lately, especially on lonely nights. 

It's fine, though, if he made a mistake. He and Len can just move on and pretend it never happened. Mick is good at ignoring things. He's ignored his little _thing_ for Leonard for years before today. He can do it again. 

"Mick." 

Mick jumps, dropping the phone back in its cradle and spinning around. Len is close behind him, closer than usual, and stretches up to press his lips against Mick's just briefly before pulling away with a smirk.

"We're cool."  


End file.
